


A Knight's Tail

by beadslut



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Big Bang Challenge, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2014-07-22
Packaged: 2018-02-09 20:19:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1996515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beadslut/pseuds/beadslut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen Ross is a juggler on the Renaissance Faire circuit.  He didn't have many other options; when he turned his company in for swindling its stockholders, there was nowhere else to go.  Jared is a Knight in the company of the Chevaliers Noir.  As the summer builds, so does their friendship</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Knight's Tail

  


 

  
  
  
A Knight's Tail  
  
  
The rope swayed as Jensen caught his breath with a gasp. Landing an aerial was hard enough to do on the ground; much less six feet above it, on a slack rope barely two fingers wide. The sound of pounding feet broke Jensen’s concentration, and he almost lost his balance. He looked down from where he stood between two trees when the runner stopped next to the barrel of water at the foot of the stage. It was the new knight that had arrived with the jousting troupe, the tall one with the ridiculous floppy hair. Jensen swallowed. Out of costume, the man wore running shorts. There was a t-shirt tucked at the back of his waistband, much like the tail a lot of the playtrons were sporting, and an armband with a phone, otherwise, all he wore was running shoes. Lithe, lean, sculpted, Jensen’s libido adjectified and flailed in his head; he shut the door on those thoughts and cleared his throat.  
  
“Don’t drink that.” he said.  
  
Startled, the new knight looked up into the trees toward the sound of Jensen’s voice.  
  
“It’s where I put out my torches.” Jensen flipped down from the swaying rope to the flat ground between the trees.  
  
From ground level, the new knight was not as tall he’d seemed from the rope, only a couple of inches taller than himself. Jensen stepped around him to tap the scratched golden end of the metal torches in the barrel. “Gives you the runs. Ask me how I know. “  
  
The new knight grinned at him. “Thanks for the warning. I’ll give that one a pass.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Jared.”  
  
“Jensen.”  
  
“Nice to meet you. Are you new?”  
  
"Not new, no, but we've not met. Wait, did you say Jared?”  
  
At Jared’s nod, Jensen’s expression turned serious. “I was real sorry to hear about your dad.”  
  
Jared blinked and the genuine smile became polite. “Ah, thanks. Yeah.”  
  
Jensen wondered how many people had hit him with that reminder just today. "Sorry, you must be getting that a lot. Jensen A -- Ross.” He hardly ever stumbled on the name anymore. He shook the hand Jared still extended. In for a penny and all that. Besides, he wasn’t going to dance around it. “Jeff -- your dad was good people.”  
  
Jared tilted his head. “Jensen Ross. Stargazer and calla lilies. They were beautiful.”  
  
Jensen stiffened. “Well, I know the notice said donations instead, but …well…”  
  
“No, I mean, there weren’t a lot of flowers, so the lilies were memorable, and it needed --. Thanks. Pleased to meet you.”  
  
Jensen changed the subject. “So, you’re back?”  
  
“All healed up and everything.” Jared’s phone whinnied, and he touched the screen. “Yeah, this is Jared.” He shrugged at Jensen in apology.  
  
“I’m sorry sir, so sorry,” stammered a girl’s voice, ”but your horse, Bucephalus? He just took off, cleared the fence...”  
  
Jared closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Moira - right, it's Moira? Are the rest in their stalls?”  
  
“Yes, yes to both, yessir.”  
  
“I’ll be back up shortly, listen, Moira, it's okay, no worries.” He waved a hand over the device, ending the call. Mirth filled his eyes, and he grinned at Jensen. “Cover your ears for a second?  
  
Jensen was puzzled, but cupped his hands over his ears. Jared turned in the direction he’d come, and let out a long shrill whistle, followed by two more short blasts, turning back to Jensen. “I’m done making noise now. You’re not allergic to horses?”  
  
Jensen was beginning to think Jared’s looks were an even trade for brains, when he heard the pounding of hooves. A cloud of dust came closer, and the hoofbeats slowed. The head of a horse peered around the corner of the Starfire booth, then a very large, black horse walked slowly toward them; head down like a child who had misbehaved. It stopped about three feet from Jared and gazed up at him through its long flowing mane.  
  
“Bucephalus, I presume?” Jensen asked.  
  
“Show name. This is Buttercup.” The horse picked up its head and snuffled at Jared’s hair. "Buttercup has been a naughty, naughty horse."  
  
The horse looked even more downcast, but moved closer to Jared, who scratched at his cheek.  
  
“Buttercup,” said Jensen, flatly.  
  
Jared nodded. “Favorite flower. Eats ‘em. I forgot to tell him to stay. He doesn’t seem like me out of his sight here, not after last year. Often thinks he’s a dog.”  
  
“That sounds like a long involved story.”  
  
“I’ll tell it to you later, at campfires, if you bring beer," Jared said. "Just now, I have to tend the newbies.”  
  
Jared turned, and he and Buttercup walked toward the stables, underneath the sign that Jensen knew read "Sherwood welcomes you to 1193!"  
  


 

  
  
Jared could do the speech in his sleep. His knights knew it, knew they were responsible for enforcing it among the squires, and the squires would be responsible for the stablehands. The hierarchy worked.  
  
“Thanks all of you who are back,” he said, “and welcome to those of you who are new.” There were smiles, and Jared couldn’t help but return them.  
  
“We,” he gestured to his knights, “are Le Chevalier Noir, the Black Knights. The most important members of our company are our horses. All of you have experience with horses, or you wouldn’t be here, and believe me, I've read your files. The usual rules apply, but I'm going to go over them with you," he looked at the knights behind them, "all of you, just so you can't say you didn't know. The rules are for your safety and the safety of the horses.  
  
“First rule - no smoking in the barn, on the barn path, or in paddock areas. That is cause for immediate termination. Feed, straw, wood, all flammable.  
  
"Emergency information and fully stocked first aid kits are at both ends of the building. There is a working land line phone next to each of them in case they have to find us that way. Inside the first aid kit, on the lid, are all the emergency numbers for this location, both for people and for horses.  
  
Don't change the music. This season, they'll live in eight different barns, pastures, feed suppliers, water will all change. Music stays the same, makes the horses feel more comfortable.  
  
The list was long, but Jared went painstakingly through it, finally reaching the end.  
  
"Questions?”  
  
"Free time?" asked one of the stable hands.  
  
"Your time is your own when you are not on the schedule, which will be posted in the barn next to the first aid kit. If you are not on the schedule, be afraid. Shawna worked as a stable hand with us last year, and she’s applied to train with us. She kept her head in an emergency, and has been promoted to provisional squire,"  
  
He whistled three notes, and a herd of nine thundered around the corner, stopping in a line a few steps behind Jared. “They’re show horses, performers. Each of them has a nameplate on their halters. You'll learn their show names and every blessed one has a barn name, too. I’m Jared, that is Felicia.” The lithe redhead waved. “Felicia is the longsword champion. Not,” he said proudly, “the ladies longsword champion, but the International Longsword Champion.  
  
"If I'm not here, you go to Jim. If he's not here, you go to Felicia. If the three of us are all unavailable, you'd best pray like hell you make a good decision."  
  
The stable hands looked daunted, and Jared gave them his best encouraging smile. "It'll be fun, I promise. Just remember it's a job, not a vacation."  
  
* * *  
  
Jensen stowed his gear, and stepped up into his trailer, unbuttoning and kicking off his red boots. He was still learning to actually live in the tiny space, making organized use of every cranny and nook. It had been easy when it was just the weekend, but now it was home. Lifting up the seat in the banquette, he opened the cooler he and Chris had custom fit into the space. There was plenty of beer, but he had to think this through. Did he bring a six pack? What message was he sending? Craft or commercial? He shook his head, amused at his own fretting. It was Wednesday night opening campfires. There would a much smaller crowd than the weekend, most of the performers and merchants would arrive the following day. Still, there would be dozens of people he didn’t know, or didn’t know well, and Jared knew them all. He should probably just stay in his trailer.  
  
There was a sharp rap at the door, before Chris pulled it open.  
  
“Oh good, you’re getting some beer. Whatcha' bringin’?”  
  
“Um,” Jensen looked again, spotting the Live Oak label. “Cups and a growler?”  
  
“Yeah,” Chris sighed in appreciation. “Schwarzbier. That stuff is so good, and perfect. Small crowd.”  
  
Jensen grinned, in spite of his doubts. “Small crowd by your standards.”  
  
Chris looked out the door behind him. “Just you, me, the Chevaliers, the gypsies and half the fairies. Everyone knows it's BYO.”  
  
“So, what’s that, 50?”  
  
“Come on, you know all these people. Well, except for Jared and maybe a handful of the gypsies.”  
  
“Met Jared today,” said Jensen slowly.  
  
“Oh?” asked Chris, and leaned against the counter with an expectant look.  
  
“Yeah. He was running, Buttercup got loose, I dunno, it was a quick conversation.”  
  
Chris laughed. “Damned horse is more like a dog.”  
  
“So he said,” agreed Jensen.  
  
“You know,” Chris said thoughtfully, “Jared might could use your help. Jeff did all the books, and Jared’s a whiz with the horses, but I don’t think he knows fuck all about keeping accounts.”  
  
“Chris.” Jensen said flatly. "Church and State."  
  
Putting his hands up in surrender, Chris laughed. “Just sayin’.”  
  
“We’ll see.” Jensen snagged a growler of black beer and a stack of cups. “I’m ready.”  
  
“You gonna wear that?” asked Chris.  
  
Jensen looked down at his tights. “Faire wear?”  
  
“Wednesday, you can wear civvies.” He gestured at his own baggy jeans and tee shirt. “Can’t judge us all by the gypsies.”  
  
Jensen laughed and slipped his vest onto a hanger, reaching into a cubby to pull out a navy polo shirt, underwear and jeans. He drew the shirt over his head, and wrinkled his nose, before reaching back into a taller cubby for deodorant. While he reached under his shirt to apply it, he looked expectantly at Chris who sighed and turned around. Skinning out of his tights and speedo, Jensen clipped them onto the same hanger as his vest, without disturbing the business suit he had hanging in the recessed alcove. He pulled on briefs and jeans in a fluid motion, adjusting himself before he zipped.  
  
At the sound, Chris turned with a smile. “Can’t believe you’re still so body conscious after a full season, Jensen.”  
  
“Hard habit to break, man. I was never one to parade around in a locker room.”  
  
Chris shook his head. “Not like you’d be lacking for attention.”  
  
“TMI.” Jensen snagged the growler and cups, jammed his bare feet into the moccasins under the banquette and took a deep breath. “Now?”  
  
“Now.”  
  
* * *  
  
Chris snagged two sling chairs that he had leaned against Jensen's trailer. His smile was infectious, and Jensen grinned in spite of himself. A small crowd was gathered near the twin trailers that Jensen knew were Alona's and Felicia's. The tall knight that Jensen remembered from last year, Aldis, was placing a stanchion under the awning that connected the two trailers.  
  
"Hey, Chris, Jensen." His eyes widened. "Black beer? You are my new best friend!"  
  
Felicia came out the door of the silverstream with an identical growler, and a nod of greeting. "Hey."  
  
Jensen knew she was one of the big draws for the Chevaliers. The high point at the end of each of the three daily performances was Felicia removing her helmet and shaking out her red, waist length hair. It was the moment when the eyes of all the little girls watching opened wide, and they turned excitedly to their parents. Sheppard sold wooden swords and shields, and wrote a hefty check to Kiva every season in gratitude for increased sales. His new line of shields featuring unicorns and castles sold briskly in addition to his solid selling line of dragons and gryphons.  
  
Alona stepped out of the other trailer, swearing her customary blue streak. "God damn piece of shit gear won't lock, Aldis can you look at it, please? Otherwise the fucking canopy sags - your chessboards will get wet." Aldis turned quickly to help her. Jensen grinned. The Fairy Princess never spoke once she was in costume and inside the gates, but backstage, she rivaled anyone Jensen had ever met for profanity, and that included Chris.  
  
Jared, dressed in a blousy shirt and jeans, was surrounded by a faire garbed group, and Chris poked him. "This year's squires and stable hands." A tall blond with a glorious head of curls stood slightly apart. "That's Vasiliy. I met him this afternoon. Aldis brought him in. He's another chess guy. I guess he has some experience doing this in Europe."  
  
After playing a few games with Aldis, Jensen had reckoned himself massively outclassed, although he'd been good at chess once. He made a mental note not to play with Vasiliy either. When he wasn't jousting, Aldis took shifts in the chess tent, pursuing a grand master rating. Local chess clubs set up tournaments at every site to take advantage of his presence. Jensen figured he probably got an appearance fee from them.  
  
Jared was gesturing at the bonfire, and then at the barns, and whatever he was saying must have been important. The garbed group surrounding him nodded as one, and Jensen marveled at how young they looked.  
  
Pipes, fiddles and drums sounded, and with them came the gypsies, dancing and singing, until they set up their chairs or folded onto mats on the ground. A fiddler stuck up a tune, but Babchia, the gypsy grandmother, stopped him.  
  
"Let us be thankful we are here again," she said, her heavily accented voice carrying to everyone, demanding their attention, Jensen still wasn't sure if the accent was real. "Let us remember those who have passed, with love. Jared, Natalia, Stefan, stand."  
  
Jensen shrugged off the chill that sped through him as they stood at her request.  
  
"You have lost loved ones. We mourn with you and have burned wagons ourselves this winter. It is time to look forward" She motioned to the fiddler. "Now, we dance." He struck a merry tune and soon there wasn't any breath to talk.  
  
Alona spun beneath his arm with Aldis and Felicia in tow, Felicia grabbed Chris and Jensen snagged Jared on the way by. One circuit around the fires was all Jensen was up for and he broke loose to fall into a chair and open the growler of beer.  
  
Jared collapsed on the neighboring chair on the next circuit, and Jensen handed him a cup.  
  
"It's so good to be back," said Jared, with a happy grin. "I can't imagine why anyone would want another kind of life."  
  
Jensen gave him a startled look while treasured visions of King-sized beds with high thread count sheets, fine restaurants and corner offices danced through his head. That was real life; this was fantasy.  
  
"So, I promised to tell you about Buttercup. I delivered him, you know --" Jared was saying. Reminding himself he was an alien, Jensen gave his full attention to the way the firelight danced in Jared's eyes.  
  
* * *  
  
It was still early when Jensen climbed into his pickup, his suit sitting in a familiar, yet unaccustomed weight on his shoulders. He waved at Jared, who was doing something with a hose and the water trough the horses drank out of. Buttercup butted him hard in the back, and Jared sprayed Buttercup, who knocked him into the trough. Jensen waited, curious to see what would happen next. Jared rose out of the trough, soaked through with his garb clinging to his body in tantalizing ways. He was laughing, and spotted Jensen watching in his truck. Head cocked, he waved at Jensen with a grin, and went back to playing with his horse. Jensen made a note to pick up a bag of apples at the supermarket before he came back to the grounds that evening.  
  
For the first time, Jensen wondered what went on there during the week day. He shook his head. The Faire barely paid him enough to keep in food and gas; it was his choice to work accounting jobs during the week to have a cushion just in case. He sighed. Someday, he could go back to earning what he was worth. In the meantime, the temp jobs scratched his need for numbers and let him buy apples for horses who thought they were dogs.  
  
* * *  
  
Buttercup lipped at the blousy sleeve of Jared’s pirate shirt, and Jared laughed, pulling the horse’s head toward him. They stood, nose to nose, happy to be in the moment. Completely monogamous, Jared only ever smooched noses with Buttercup. There would never be a reason for his horse to be jealous.  
  


 

  
“Jesus, Jared. You standing in for Fabio, or looking for book covers of your own?” grumbled Jim.  
  
Felicia laughed so hard that Cosmo swatted her with his tail. In his harlequin breeks and blousy shirt, Jared could indeed have been a cover model for the romance of the month club. She shook her head. It was just as well he did nothing for her. Sleeping with your boss was such a bad idea.  
  
Jared strode down the row of squires holding the horses. The maille shirt hung familiarly over his heavy arming tunic; the sweat was already building between his shoulder blades and it wasn’t even hot out yet.  
  
Bishop gleamed practically white in the sun, rivaling the shine of his armor and setting off his jet caparison to the beau ideal of a knight's destrier. Aldis grinned at him, his armor black and glistening before First Joust.  
  
Felicia shrugged her shoulder in an attempt to adjust the pauldron on her right side. “What’s up?” asked Jared.  
  
“Can’t get the lance rest to sit right. Give it a yank, will you?”  
  
“Lift your arm.”  
  
She extended her arm out to the right, parallel to the ground and Jared peered closely at her armpit. “You’ve got loose rings, and they're catching. You want to change out, or fix it between?  
  
She shrugged again to reposition the plate. “Yeah, there it is. I’ll fix it after. Quintain and rings, it’s not going to be a problem. Fix it after.”  
  
Jared narrowed his eyes, and spotted her squire, Matt. “You. Make sure that gets fixed. Did you miss it when you helped her arm?”  
  
Matt looked at Jared, shaking his head. “No sir. She came out of her trailer with it on.”  
  
Jared looked at the sky. “Felicia Day, you know better, so much better. It’s Matt’s job. Let him do it.”  
  
Felicia bowed her head. “Okay, okay. My bad. Sorry, Matt. We’ll go over everything together after, ok?”  
  
The trumpets sounded and Jared cursed under his breath. Before he could do anything, Shawna was right behind him with his chestplate, spaulder and gauntlets. He stood; arms outstretched and let the squires buckle on his armor with a nod and a smile. It wasn’t full armor; they could have done this in tunics, but it was a show, and Felicia's helmet coming off was a big show moment. He settled his in the crook of his arm. Armor was what the audience was there to see. Shawna led Buttercup over and gave him a leg up.  
  
“We're onstage. Allez, Chevaliers,” Jared called. The gates opened before him, and the troupe cantered out to the tilting field, their path cleared by the crowd control workers.  
  
The Royal Court had already arrived. Jim was deep into his persona of the Marshall of the Joust, explaining the quintain to the crowd, and the field workers were waving their arms and inciting the audience.  
  
"East Side!" shouted Chad.  
  
"Huzzah!" roared the crowd from their seats on the straw bales.  
  
"West Side!" prompted Vasiliy.  
  
Jared snorted. Vasily's side of the tiltyard was well populated. At the rail, where he stood, it was mostly dewy eyed maidens, giving him the once over. Jared made a cynical decision to give him a helmet to pass at the end of the joust. Horses had to eat.  
  
In a concession to the size of the venue, Jim wore a microphone, and began to narrate. "Lords and ladies, strangers from unknown lands. I am the Lord Marshall of this tiltyard, in service to the Queen, who has called forth the best knights throughout the kingdom to perform their skills for her people on this festival day!"  
  
Jared's knights entered, Jared and Sebastian each carried a banner, one red and one blue, helms in the crook of their arms. The rest of the knights were helmed, as they rode in a precision formation, ending up in front of the Royal viewing stand. They bowed to their monarchs before taking their brightly caparisoned horses once more around the ring to the sound of trumpets. The combination was proven to attract the crowd to their show.  
  
"Know ye, on this day, our knights compete at the quintain." The Marshall leaned down and took a bucket from a waiting squire, then rode to the quintain and placing it on the revolving arm. He nodded at Chad, who gaped at him. "Playest thou at quintain in your village?"  
  
"Och, aye, sorr," said Chad, swaggering into the microphone's range. "Champion, I am, come the fete in our town."  
  
"Whilst thou show the good folk how it be done?"  
  
The squire held out a lance to Chad, who took it and overbalanced in a one man comedic show that had the crowd all laughing. Finally in control of the lance, Chad took off running at the target. He struck the shield and stopped, and the bucket tipped over, soaking him. With great skill, Chad stepped into the bucket and was led away by two of the grounds crew to much applause.  
  
The Marshall shook his head and gazed at the crowd on either side of the rails." Surely one of you knows which village is missing the lad?” He shook his head along with them as the joke sunk in. “You, fair patrons, may choose to master this skill on the challenge fields," the Marshall gestured to the gaming area. His demeanor became more larcenous, "for a small fee." Winking, he spun his horse in a circle, calling out, “Sir Tristan! Are your knights at the ready?"  
  
"Aye, Master of the Joust!" replied Jared, feeling the character of Sir Tristan envelop him like a blanket.  
  
"And you, Sir Balthazar? Are your knights at the ready?"  
  
Sebastian saluted in the affirmative, and Jared wondered how long Seb could keep this up. He was in his late 30's -- Jared shook his head. Now was not the time to lose concentration. It was show time.  
  
"Our knights judge their skill by the number of times the quintain spins. We ask you to count with us, aye?"  
  
Arms raised, the ground staff urged their sides on to cheer and shout "Aye!"  
  
The quintain spun and Sebastian had struck it most accurately, twenty one spins won the day. Then there was ring spearing, and the enmity between Tristan and Balthazar became pronounced. The crowd on the north side cheered for Tristan, on the south, they cheered for Balthazar.  
  
The count of rings was close, when the smallest of the knights began to gallop down the lists. Lance flipping to and fro, the knight reached the end of the track and trotted back to the center where the Marshall waited. The knight tapped him on the shoulder with the lance, and the Marshall counted the rings along with the crowd.  
"Twenty one! The full complement! Unhelm, fair knight, and take your due as champion," he announced.  
  
Pulling off the gleaming helmet, Felicia's bright red waves fell down the back of her hauberk as the crowd gave a collective gasp.  
  
"Your name, Lady Knight?" prompted the Marshall.  
  
"I am La Belle Dame Sans Merci and I fight for the glory of the Queen!"  
  
* * *  
  
It was a good thing it was Monday, thought Jensen. A little rain served as stage dressing, a touch of authentic Scottish weather, but a lot of rain kept the tourists away and filled tip jars with water and nothing else. And this, he thought, as the NOAA website refreshed and the blob of orange and red and holy shit was that purple? crept over the screen, was a lot of rain.  
  
“It’s coming, and it’s going to be bad,” Chris said.  
  
“Everything that can be is tied down or tied up. Unless you’ve got Noah’s Ark tucked behind the Cavalier Stage, we’re set. I'm going to take Jim that other tarp.”  
  
Jensen's weather radio blared an alarm. He passed Chris, who looked bewildered, and shouted over his shoulder. "Tornado!"  
  
The trailer door slammed behind him, and then again as Chris took off at a run to sound the alarm in the campground.  
  
* * *  
  
“Damn fool. He’s gonna catch his death,” Jim grumbled, but Jared snorted into his coffee. Aldis staying with the horses meant all of them had an excuse to tromp through the rain to check on him and if they happened to pat a flank or run fingers familiarly through a tousled mane, well, that was fine, too.  
  
Lightning cracked across the sky and Jared felt his flinch, he straightened to find Jim shaking his head. Thunder boomed, louder than a jet and Jared looked toward the west, where the roiling clouds blocked the horizon and rolled toward them like a stampede. “Shit.” Fat raindrops smacked the roof and windows as though the sound had released them and Jim pulled off his cap and ran his fingers through his hair. “What’s the weatherman say?”  
  
“Says it’s going to do this all day. I’m making another pot of coffee. Figure I’ll take some down in a bit.”  
  
A bit turned out to be the seven minutes the coffee pot took, plus another two to rinse out and refill the thermos. Jared pulled on the yellow slicker, touching the waxed leather slicker that had been his dad's for luck. It fit Jim, at least, and opened the door wincing when the wind pulled it free of his grip hard enough for the handle to bruise his fingers. There were no torches, would be no campfires tonight. The only light came from the halogen street light where the playtrons parked and that was obscured by the rain and whipping branches more than distance. He slid off the bottom step, landing awkwardly and muttering under his breath, then falling silent as he thought he heard his name through the pounding rain.  
  
Turning his head, he saw Jensen running toward him. "Weather radio said there's a tornado coming," he panted. “Chris went to warn everyone, do you need help?"  
  
Jared looked around him and cursed. Sherwood Faire sat on a plain, surrounded by ravines. The Faire grounds might be gone in an hour, but the people needed to be moved. His horses needed to be moved. Alona and Felicia ran toward the campground, Alona with a medical pack and Felicia waving a megaphone. Jared nodded a thank you and took off running toward the barns.  
  
* * *  
  
Jared's shirt bloused and whipped up over his head as he led six horses from the barn. Aldis followed with another six, Jared's slicker wrapped around Bishop's head. Jensen didn't see Buttercup or Max, so he ran into the barn. Max cowered in his stall, going nowhere, no matter how much Buttercup coaxed. Jensen pulled off his shirt and approached Max, speaking softly. When the giant grey dipped his head, Jensen covered it with his shirt. Blinded, Max followed Buttercup's whickering easily.  
  
Jensen grabbed at Buttercup's tail, knowing he would find Jared, and that Jared would find shelter. Debris flew everywhere once they were outside of the barn, and Jensen trotted after Buttercup holding Max's lead. At the top of the ravine, there were two paths. Buttercup took the path to the left, and Max pushed Jensen from behind, onto the right path. Stumbling, Jensen hung on to the huge horse for balance and was swept into his headlong descent. When Jensen could see, His shirt was around Max's neck, and Max's eyes were wide, whites showing all around. Jensen wished desperately he'd learned more about horses, as the wind whipped Max's lead around his leg. He was caught, hoping the horse knew how to survive the storm. The rain started to pour down.  
  
Jensen pressed up against the destrier, who pulled him steadily downwards, stopping on a wide shelf and pressing into the side of the ravine. The wind quieted for a moment, almost long enough for Jensen to get his bearings. He saw Jared with his string of horses, struggling for position about forty yards behind him. Max turned, shouldering Jensen into the wall and reared. He bugled, and Buttercup stopped and sniffed the air, before stopping to nip at Jared's breeches. Startled, Jared looked behind him to see Jensen and Max on the wider ledge and nodded. Debris flew everywhere, not just the light stuff, like lawnchairs, but bits of fence and large pieces of lumber. Jared led his string through the wind and over the narrow path, stopping often to hold their balance. Jensen couldn't watch, and bent to untangled Max's reins from around his leg. He looked up as Jared came around the corner and a flying fencepost hit him in the shoulder. Jared gasped and went down to one knee. Jensen ran to help him. Slinging Jared's good arm over his shoulders, Jensen lifted with his knees until he had Jared upright, and Buttercup pushed them up against the ravine wall itself.  
  
There was a roaring sound, and the dry creek bed below them started to fill up with a rush of water from uphill. Jensen gasped as the shelf where Jared and his string had stood only minutes before crumbled into the rushing water, and turned his body to hold Jared against the wall of the ravine with the horses at their backs. It felt like forever, but eventually, the wind and water slowed, the sun fingering through the remaining clouds, sending a ray down to shine on Jared's bowed head. Jensen was shaking, and laid his head on Jared's shoulder. There it was again, the enticing scent of Jared teasing his dick into hardness. Jared shook beneath him, and Jensen leaned in closer to hear Jared say, "That's not how I imagined you covering me."  
  
Before Jensen could take that in, he heard voices. The horses were starting to mill in impatience, as Vasiliy and Sebastian picked their way down the path to retrieve them. Jensen could hear voices shouting above him, as the horses were led away, and he gasped as Jared shifted his weight, and turned face out. The shoulder of Jared's shirt was bloodied, and he winced in pain.  
  
"Thanks, Jensen. I'd have lost them all if it wasn't for you."  
  
Jensen shook his head, and helped his friend up the path, where Buttercup waited with Alona and her medical kit. Aldis and Sebastian pulled Jared the rest of  
the way up the path, and Aldis nodded at Jared's inquiring look. "All safe. Bunch of stuff got blown around, but no one is hurt badly." Buttercup knelt, and the other knights helped Jared mount. Aldis leading them carefully back to the barn.  
  
Jensen watched them go with a pang.  
  
"You did well," said Sebastian from behind him. "The campground isn't damaged at all, and other than a couple of bruises, everyone's alright. We were able to get everyone to shelter, thanks to you."  
  
Jensen nodded.  
  
"You should go get dry clothes on, Jensen. We're going to have to have a meeting at campfire."  
  
Jensen closed his eyes. It could all have been over in the time it took to have coffee at Starbuck's.  
  
"Jensen!" shouted Chris, and ran toward him. "You okay?"  
  
Sebastian walked away stiffly, as Chris enveloped Jensen in a hug. "Come on, dry clothes first, and then we'll figure things out." Jensen followed him, fighting off every instinct to go to the barn instead.  
  
* * *  
  
Campfires was a grim, wet thing. Chris stood at the center with a clipboard marking off names, status of lodging, transport and buildings. There were blessedly no casualties and fewer injuries than expected thanks to the weather radios and the path of the storm. The Faire end party was cancelled in favor of figuring out who needed what.  
  
Jensen looked around for Jared - always Jared - and found him sitting in a sling chair near Alona's trailer. In spite of the heat, he was covered with a blanket, gaze unfocused, head tilted to one side as he nodded at something Alona was saying.  
  
Jensen flopped down on the ground on the other side of Alona. “I had no idea you were an EMT,” he said.  
  
“You thought I was just another pretty fucking Queen?” asked Alona in mock-outrage. She leaned back against the trailer. “There’s two of us here now,” she nodded at the man from the gypsy camp on the other side of the clearing, tending to the second worst injury, a sprained ankle. “Thank goodness no one was seriously hurt.”  
  
Jensen looked over at Jared, and Alona nudged Jensen with her knee. “For the record, he was my friend before you were. Hurt him and I will gut your fucking body and make the rest of your life a living hell.”  
  
“What?!” yelped Jensen.  
  
“I see how you look at him. You should do something about that, but not,” she said sternly, “tonight.”  
  
“For fuck’s sake, Alona, he’s hurt, and drugged beyond the capability of informed consent. Hell, he doesn’t seem to be capable of anything but grinning, look at him.”  
  
Alona smiled fondly at Jared. “He’s had worse in the tiltyard. Be right as rain by next weekend.”  
  
Jensen looked around, wondering how many of the others had lives outside the Faire grounds, suddenly wanting to know all their stories. He side-eyed Alona. “I’m a CPA.”  
  
She sidled into him, and laid her head on his shoulder. “I know, Jensen. Thanks for telling me, though.”  
  
With a peck on Jensen's cheek, she groaned, picked up her kit and walked toward the campground as Jensen looked at her and at Jared, then gave in, sliding toward him.  
  
Jared smiled at him. "I'm so happy to see you."  
  
Firelight danced in Jared's eyes again. but this time, Jensen could see his pupils were huge, dilated. "Are you high?"  
  
"Oh, yeah." Jared agreed. "Doesn't hurt a bit." The arm that wasn't under the blanket patted him on the shoulder.  
  
Jensen sat, listening to the steady chug of a makeshift pump under the trailer. Jared was boneless, smiling at him with an open affection that made him ache with want. ""Why aren't we a thing?" he asked.  
  
With a cough as an apology, Christian flopped down on Jensen's other side, writing on the clipboard, then looked at him. "You could have anything you wanted from him tonight, Jensen, but you'd never really know would you?" asked Christian  
  
"No," answered Jensen sadly, "and I won't have him unless he's sure and sober." He leaned over and tugged at Jared's blanket to look under it. An air mattress, fitted to Jared with tape and belts circulated icy cold water. Jensen could see the bruises it wasn't covering. He didn't know which ones were from the joust and which were from the flying debris, but he could see Jared was hurt badly. The sound of water circulating through the air mattress was soft and rhythmic, it wasn't long before Jared's eyes closed in sleep. Jensen looked towards the barns.  
  
Chris snorted. "Jim, Sebastian, Aldis and the squires have the barns in hand, Jensen."  
  
"Yeah, maybe. Did anyone tell Buttercup Jared's gonna be okay?"  
  
Chris looked at him uncomprehendingly. "What?"  
  
Jensen looked at Chris. "He jumped the fence to get to Jared a couple of weeks ago. What kind of a mess do you think it will be if he does it again?"  
  
Chris looked at the gathering of a hundred stunned Faire folke. "Oh. Shit."  
  
"Keep an eye on him, will you?" asked Jensen. "I'll be right back."  
  
Jensen ran up the hill. He hated running. The barn doors were open, and he could hear Jim and Aldis talking. "I don't even know--" They broke off as Jensen ran in.  
  
"What's wrong?" he asked, breathlessly.  
  
"They're restless. Not like another storm's coming, but unsettled." Jim admitted.  
  
"It's Buttercup," said Jensen. "Let me talk to him."  
  
Aldis looked at him strangely. "Jensen? You sure?"  
  
Jensen never even heard him, walking to Buttercup's stall and opening the gate as he spoke steadily. "Jared's okay.” Buttercup's head jerked up, and the rest of the horses looked expectantly at him. Jensen took hold of the rope hanging on the post outside the stall. He hooked it onto Buttercup's halter, and spoke to him softly. "There are a lot of people down there and they're frightened. We're going to walk slow, okay?"  
  
Buttercup whickered, lipping at Jensen's hair, and he led the giant Friesian to the campfire. There was enough room to pass between the trees and Alona's trailer, and Buttercup stopped when he saw Jared, He whickered softly, and Jared opened bleary eyes. "Aww, you big baby. I'll be fine."  
  
Placing his feet ever so carefully, Buttercup took one step closer, and sniffed at Jared, who lifted a hand to pat the horse. "Go to bed. I'm fine." He tried to focus, looking at Jensen. "Thanks, man."  
  
Jensen nodded, and Buttercup backed slowly the way he came, tugging gently on the rope. Jensen walked slowly back to the barns, wondering at the bond between horse and rider, and why he cared.  
  
* * *  
  
Buttercup closed the stall door after himself and lapped at his water. Jared hung the lead rope on the post and turned around.  
  
"I can't. I'm not licensed or qualified," insisted Aldis.  
  
"Well who am I gonna get to drive it, then?" asked Jim.  
  
"What's wrong," asked Jensen.  
  
"Nothin'," said Jim, flatly.  
  
"Nah, man, it's something," Aldis argued. "Jared's third driver. We were down one since Jared got hurt last year, now Jeff's passed, and we've got to get to Scarby." He stopped and took a breath. "Actually, I have to get to Dallas. Got a match, and I can't drive a horse trailer."  
  
Jensen evaluated the sour look on Jim's face. "What license?" he asked.  
  
Jim's head jerked up like it was on a string. "CDL, class A."  
  
"Permit. Never went for the license, turns out I didn't need it for the trailer."  
  
Jim looked less grim. "Look, Jensen, we're probably underweight, and we're in Texas, but Shawna ain't 21, and she's absolutely not legal to drive it, no matter how many times she's done it on the ranch."  
  
"Jared won't be fit to drive for a couple of days," said Aldis. "I could drive 'lona's truck, but that leaves her trailer, cause she's got a flat, and I gotta be there tonight."  
  
Jensen shook his head. "Last time you drove 'lona's truck, we heard about it for a week. Spilled orange soda, or something?"  
  
Aldis looked hurt, and Jensen laughed. "I'm not wrong."  
  
"He's not wrong," Jim agreed. "Jensen, can you help us out?"  
  
Driving a horse trailer was no small task, thought Jensen, and then thought about Jared, and how this was his life. "Guess I can try. Aldis, take my truck, get to your tournament. Keys are under the mat. Make sure you disconnect everything, and secure the interior."  
  
Aldis whooped and hugged Jensen, running from the barn.  
  
Jim looked at him seriously. "Can you do it?"  
  
"Expect you to drill me before we go. Let Shawna ride with me to double check me."  
  
Jim nodded. "Get some sleep."  
  
"Christian will let me crash with him, I'll be fine. Shit!" The sound of his truck firing up whipped Jensen's head around.  
  
"His first match is tonight, " said Jim. "You did a good thing."  
  
"Yeah. Let's hope it turns out better than the last time," said Jensen.

 

  


  
 

Jensen was still white knuckled when he pulled up the trailer up to where Jim was pointing. Shawna hadn't said a word the entire trip, and hopped out of the cab as soon as it came to a halt. Jensen turned off the engine and crossed his arms on the steering wheel, wearily dropping his head onto them. He could have fallen asleep there, but the bile threatening to come up made him pull the keys from the ignition and hurry to the edge of the clearing. With one hand on a tree trunk for support, he lost all the coffee he'd drunk on the way down. Wiping at his mouth with the hem of his shirt, he caught Shawna out of the corner of his eye standing behind him with a bottle of water. She offered it to him, and Jensen took it, with an inquiring look.

"I was a bitch, and I'm sorry. You're not -- I'm sorry." She turned and walked to the horse trailer.

Jensen looked past her to the paddock where Sebastian and Felicia were running fence, looking for Jared, when it dawned on him that it was full of horses. His eyes narrowed, and he looked for Jim, who was walking toward him. Vasiliy was opening up the trailer Jensen had just driven in, and Jensen heard a familiar whicker. He nodded at Jim. His trailer was filled with armor and weaponry and costumes, but he had the delivered the goods, and Buttercup.

* * *

Jared looked at all the new faces, and grinned. It was time to give the speech.

“Thanks all of you who are back,” he said, “and welcome to those of you who are new. Scarby is one of the oldest Faires, it's one of the first places the Chevaliers performed, after they were founded."

Jared could remember exploring its magic when he was barely allowed out of his father's sight. "This is where I learned to love the Faire, and I really missed it last season. So the most important thing, accidents are gonna happen. When they happen with a thousand pound horse, a full grown rider, a hundred pounds of armor and limited visibility well, you know how that goes. That's how I broke my leg at Sherwood; I missed the whole summer last year. I don't want that to happen to anyone else.

"That's why we have rules. " He started down the list, finishing with the weather. "If you hear thunder, you should already be on the way to the barn area. Sherwood could have been tragic for us, but we were lucky. I'd rather be prepared than depend on luck a second time.

"As always, if I'm not here, you go to Jim. If he's not here, you go to Felicia. If the three of us are all unavailable you'd best pray like hell you make a good decision, or find someone else who can." He tilted his head for a moment. "Shawna makes good decisions."

He whistled three notes, and a herd of horses thundered around the corner, stopping in a line a few steps behind Jared.

"Here are your charges. It'll be fun, I promise. Just remember it's a job, not a vacation."

* * *

 

Without any fanfare, Jensen slid down the rope from the top of Pour Richard's like a surfer, flipping onto the slack rope with hardly a bobble. He looked out and realized he had a pretty good crowd. There was a line to Susannah's door at the Pour Richard, the sun was shining, it wasn't too hot. There was a fanfare of horns from the tiltyard, and Jensen grinned. He was liking life at the Fair.

Mincing across the rope to his basket of props, he turned the aerial he'd been practicing. He spotted Chris at the edge of the crowd and nodded, then turned a grin to the far left corner of the audience. The foam balls he'd pulled from the basket spun around and around and the kid in front was appropriately mesmerized. “Hey kid, yeah you, Fluttershy." The child's head snapped up and bright eyes met Jensen's. "S’okay, Twilight’s my favorite, but I won’t hold it against you. You can count, right? How many balls in the air?” he asked, and set them into an easy waterfall, one through seven.

“Seven,” the kid called out, and Jensen grinned as he palmed the first, keeping the others moving, disguising it with a shift to a circular pattern.

“You sure? He put his hand on his hip, keeping the rotation going with his left hand as he slid the palmed ball in his right into his waistband. “Count again.”

The kid to the left got into the act, counting aloud. “Six,” the new kid cried. “Six.”

“I don’t know about that.” Jensen made a show of scratching his head, letting the palmed ball fall into his collar. “I count five, dude.” He set a cascade, and pulled another. “Whoops. Maybe four.”

The adults in the audience were laughing. Fluttershy glared at him with crossed arms. Jensen tossed three in one hand and waved the fourth back and forth in the other. He added the loose ball back to the ones in the air, palming the last of those at the same time.

“Whoops, nope only three!” He tossed one up and stepped under it, crinkling his nose to keep it balanced there, then stomped and backhanded one to Chris, in place to pass the hat. He displayed the two remaining balls, one in each hand held above his head, then clapped his hands together, “and none!” He slid the balls to the backs of his hand, held in the base of his fingers, and showed empty palms to the audience who applauded with gratifying enthusiasm. “Thank you very much folks! Please remember to tip the juggler, or I’ll stay, and date your sons.” Chris doffed his hat and stepped up onto the bench farthest from the stage, collecting for him as the playtrons gathered tankards and turkey legs and toddled off to the next stage act.

Chris dropped a handful of bills into Jensen’s basket. “Not bad, you takin’ me out to dinner?”

“What's in it for me?” asked Jensen with a laugh.

* * *

Even Jared had to admit that he wasn't fit enough to perform. Thankfully, finding someone to fill in at a Chevaliers show wasn't really much of a problem. Hemmie from Asgard Arms was happy to clown with them. Playing at Marshall, and putting Sebastian on the rail was a nice change of pace. When the one man Barbarian raid burst onto the tiltyard, screaming and whirling a battle axe over his head, Jared was glad to be atop bulletproof Buttercup. Nothing phased him, including the involuntary flinch of his rider.

Stalking the sidelines shouting and shaking his axe at the audience, Hemmie was certainly not body shy. Calf high boots and what looked like a rabbit pelt loincloth were all he wore. His long blond hair streaming wet down his back and torso dripping wet, Hemmie made quite the picture. The audience didn't know for certain if this was part of the show until Jared put the herald's horn to his lips and blew.

Hemmie turned and glared at Jared. "What?!" he roared.

Jared tilted his head and gestured at the crowd. "The good folk are here to witness the battle of arms between knights, my good man. You stand in the field of combat."

"Right. I can take them."

"'tis a fight with many rules."

"Do you say I am stupid? That I cannot learn your rules?" said Hemmie, threateningly.

"Why no," said Jared, backing Buttercup up as the hulking Barbarian advanced on him. "You _will_ need a mount."

Hemmie looked around, eyes landing on Sebastian. "You! Bring me a mount."

Sebastian looked at Jared, who shrugged, then ran down the list to the gates. In a moment, he was back with a shaggy palomino Shetland pony that he led to the Barbarian. Hemmie threw a leg over the pony, tall enough to walk a few steps straddling the horse.

 

  
The audience roared, and Jared thought about incorporating the swordsmith in the shows more often.

Felicia's old armor was too small. The axe would not fit through the rings, even when Hemmie tried with the handle. His hands did not fit the gauntlets, and the crowd chanted "You Must Acquit."

Jared struggled to keep a straight face. "Barbarian!"

Hemmie went to his knees on the ground, shoulders hunched, sobbing in frustration. "What?!" he cried, far less intimidating than he had been.

"What is it," Jared asked, "that you really want here?"

Throwing his head back, Hemmie howled to the sky. "Adrienne!"

His real life wife stood and brushed off her skirts, her voice clear and easily understood as the crowd hushed.

"Too small!"

She ran out the gates and the Barbarian followed her.

* * *

The parade shooed the straggling playtrons toward the gate and the sound of the cannon shot made it official. The Faire was closed until the following weekend. It was Jared's week on night duty at the barn, so Jensen just went back to his trailer and ate a sandwich. He had a job to go to the next morning, and he needed to get his things ready. He was going to have to iron a shirt.

* * *

Jensen sighed. The rain had been torrential, streaming down the windows of the office where he’d worked. On top of it, he’d already finished his assignment, and while the company had paid his contract and a bonus, that meant he had nothing to do for the next three weeks. He’d made a lengthy trip to the local Accountemps office, but they had nothing for him.

An hour of treacherous driving later, he parked his truck at the top of the hill, knowing it would be dangerous to navigate in the mud that was the campground. Jensen cursed. It was still pouring and he looked around the cab of the truck. The plastic bag holding his dinner, a sandwich and an apple, wasn't going to provide any shelter, and neither was the bag with his laptop in it. In the bench seat behind him, there was a golf umbrella, yet another reminder of his past. With a shrug, Jensen opened the truck door, opened the umbrella and stepped out into the storm. After a ten minute walk of slipping and sliding, he arrived at his trailer.

Aldis parked close to the commons when he'd arrived, when Jensen opened the door, he discovered that it had been too close. The trailer was full of Morris Dancers, hiding from the downpour, and while that was precisely why he'd left it unlocked, it didn't offer a lot of options for sleeping. As he stepped inside, he was sure he would never get rid of the smell of sex. Hands up in apology for interrupting their coitus, Jensen grabbed at the bundle of sleeping bag and pillow he usually kept for unexpected guests. They'd never been used. He backed out of the trailer only to find his umbrella had vanished, probably blown away in the wind.  
He looked toward the barns. There was a light shining in the office, and he slogged through the mud, thrusting his dinner into the roll of the sleeping bag. He hoped that whoever was up would let him sleep in the loft or something. He tapped at the barn door, and slipped inside. Most of the horses slept, standing in their stalls, but Buttercup whickered at him. Jensen dug the apple out of his bag to offer it up to the Friesian. The gelding took it delicately and nudged him toward the light in the office. Outside, the wind whipped up and the downpour continued.

In the makeshift office at the back, Jared sat at a desk, head in his hands, and books everywhere; he looked up, startled when Jensen tapped on the door frame.

“Jensen! What are you doing out in this?”

Jensen wished it had been Jim, or Aldis sitting in the chair, they'd known him last year when he'd had to learn everything the first time. He thought Jared would laugh at him when he said, “I told Chris to leave my trailer unlocked in case someone needed shelter. It’s full of Morris Dancers.”

“Oh.” Jared made a face. “I have a hose. If it lets up tomorrow. I can help you clean it.”

“Thanks," Jensen said slowly, startled by the offer. "Listen, I was hoping to find someplace to crash.” He knew he looked like a drowned rat. His clothes were soaked and muddy, hair matted and dripping; he suddenly felt self-conscious about his glasses.

“Jesus, what am I thinking? Get those wet clothes off, you’ll catch your death.” In an explosion of motion, Jared dumped the papers off his lap and plucked the bedroll from Jensen's arms, tossing it onto a chair. He opened a trunk to pull out a pair of worn sweats, offering them to Jensen. He bowed, and said "It is part of the chivalric code of knights to offer shelter--"

“One word about damsels and you’re a dead man,” interrupted Jensen with a growl.

Jared put his free hand up, suppressing a grin. “As you wish.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Bathroom in the back.”

Squelching as he went, knowing his dignity and his loafers were unsalvageable, Jensen walked past Jared into the room Jared indicated. He was hoping for a towel, but as he closed the door behind him, Jensen heard himself moan with pleasure. The bathroom, while still rustic, had a shower stall. He shed his sodden clothing in a pile on the floor and placed his glasses gently on the sink before he stepped into the shower. Hot, really hot water streamed from the shower head and he gave himself up to the pleasure of being warm for the first time since he'd left his truck. Of all the things he missed about the past, his bathroom with its steam shower and separate tub featured prominently.

He reached for the shower gel in the corner. It smelled of leather, amber and roses, of Jared. Jensen’s dick gave a twitch, and he put the gel back quickly, and used the bar of plain white soap to wash up.

He dried off on the rough towel and hung it back over the railing to dry, pulled on the sweats and grabbed his glasses so he wouldn't lose them.

* * *

Jensen stepped back into the office wearing Jared's sweats, glasses in hand. Jensen knew they were Jared's because they were a little bit long on him. Jared stared at the screen of his computer, and Jensen could see the circles under his eyes even without his glasses. He felt badly that he hadn't noticed before.

"Whatcha got there?" he asked.

"Books. Accounting. Dad used to do all this, I'm a fucking history major. I'm supposed to be writing a dissertation, this stuff is supposed to practically take care of itself."

"Problem?"

"Other than that I am completely inept at this? Jensen, dad left me this business. I can't let it go under." Jared choked out, "It's all on me, man."

Jensen nodded. "Let me look. You gave me shelter and a shower, I owe you a couple of hours of work." He put on his glasses, and took a deep breath. He hadn't wanted anyone at the Faire to know what he did, in spite of his confession to Alona. "It's what I do."

"You look like a goddamned superhero." Jared's expression was serious. "Jensen, I know who you are. If you can find a way for me to afford it, I will put you on a retainer and beg you to save the business. Please. I am asking for your help." He stood, and offered Jensen his chair.

"You know who I am?" asked Jensen slowly.

"I had a broken leg last summer, remember? I watched the news. You did an honorable thing, and I know it cost you."

Humbled, Jensen sat down. "Nevermind that. Tell me what you've done this year."

Jared crouched next to the desk, looking at the screen. I put all the expenses in this spreadsheet, and all the income. It won't balance, it makes no sense to me. I'm completely lost. Dad was the accountant, I don't even have someone to ask, but if you could help --"

Jensen nodded. "What software was your dad using?"

"Um… Excel?"

Jensen snorted. "I knew your dad, Jared. Didn't he tell you anything about the accounting?"

Jared looked affronted. "He wasn't supposed to die, Jensen. No. He didn't. I'm supposed to be doing my doctorate, jousting, building the brand. This is kind of beyond me."

"I'm sorry," said Jensen. "That was really thoughtless, Jared. You'd think the big gay accountant would know better. I will sort this."

Jared rocked back on his heels with a strange expression on his face. "I'm not sure what turns me on more right now, big or accountant."

Jensen laughed out loud. Gay completely glossed over and irrelevant, acknowledged for later. "Go to bed, you look like hell." Jensen expected Jared to go out to his trailer, but he stood, and pulled a bed down from the wall. "Murphy's law, Murphy's bed."

Jensen stood, eye to eye with Jared. "I've got this. I do."

Jared nodded, and opened a trunk to pull out pillows and blankets. "I don't grope, kick, or steal the covers. You come to sleep when you're tired."

Jensen watched Jared climb into the double bed, resolutely turning to the computer, back to what he wanted most. He would earn Jared, dammit. He sat, and put on his glasses.

A few hours later, Jared's soft breathing wasn't quite snoring, and Jensen had transferred all Jared's painstaking entries into the proper accounting program. Some of the entries needed clarifying, but the Chevaliers were no where near the disaster Jared had envisioned. Things were actually looking good with the weekend's take coming in.

A startled breath came from behind him. "Jensen?"

"Almost done. You were in the wrong program is all, Jared. Go back to sleep. You're solvent."

Jared stretched. "Can I ask a question?" He pulled up his knees and wrapped his arms around them.

Jensen stilled. He wasn't sure he wanted to answer, but Chris was always telling him to open up. It was Jared he wanted to open up, but maybe he should go first.

"Why'd you do it? Why are you here? It’s not like you wake up and say, I’m going to turn in my tie and Armani suit for an embroidered vest and bright red boots."

"Are you dissing my Faire wear?" asked Jensen, with mock outrage.

Jared laughed. "Seriously, man. You can juggle a spreadsheet and flaming torches, those are not proximate skills."

"As far as the juggling goes, I had a theater major as my freshman roomie."

"I see. Because that was obvious. What?"

"And," Jensen said softly, "sort of a competitive streak."

Jared laughed. "That I can believe."

"Well, he was complaining about learning to juggle for Godspell."

"I don’t remember Godspell having a --"

Jensen sighed. He'd sat through weeks of that roomie memorizing lines. "The student director was inventive. Anyway he was bitching and dropping shit behind me, I may have said something, he told me I couldn't do it. I could. Then I went back to studying, and I found switching from mental to physical helped. So I’d juggle as study breaks. There’s science behind it."

"You're a walking Lumosity ad," Jared said, admiringly.

"You asked," said Jensen, defensively.

"No, man," Jared shook his head and looked at him earnestly. " I’m actually impressed." He hesitated, as if knowing he was on perilous ground. "Still, why here?"

Jensen sighed. This was the hard part. "I couldn't get a job."

Jared gaped at him. "What?"

Jensen hugged his legs to him and chewed his lip. Big!Corp had used every trick in the book to misappropriate its investor’s funds. He hadn’t thought about what it would mean for him to blow the whistle on their mismanagement, but he couldn’t stand another moment of watching the board of directors on their yachts, throwing parties they had no right to when they weren’t returning on investment. He’d made money, had a comfortable life, but innate honesty could not allow him to keep quiet about what management was doing. No corner office could make up for investors being bilked.

"I did what I had to do, and no other respectable company would have me. They saw me as tainted, I guess. There were offers, but -- hell, I can juggle."

"And why here?" repeated Jared.

Jensen laughed. "Part of the on-boarding for Big!Corp was team building. They hired Chris to show us how we'd be juggling priorities and tasks and responsibilities."

"Oh?"

"He threw me a ball."

"Oh, oh."

"Yeah. Competitive, remember?"

Jared smiled. "And then?"

Well, after he tossed me a club, he realized I could juggle. Talked me into going to Scarby on the weekends it was in town. Did that for three years. It seemed like the right place to go when no one else would have me."

"So, why didn't I meet you?"

Jensen laughed. "Joust? Hello, main attraction? Street performers wouldn't be on your radar, and you're not on theirs. I never watched the joust until last year at Sherwood. Saw you break your leg on the way back to the barn."

"Huh. Well, that was no fun."

"I can imagine."

"Missed almost the whole season." Jared looked sad. "Time I missed with my dad." He shook his head and stretched. "So, you've done more than enough work tonight." He patted the unslept side of the bed, and Jensen lost the power of speech.

Jared swung his feet over the edge of the bed. "Dissertation's not going to write itself."

Jensen couldn't say if he was disappointed or relieved. Jared was right, it was late. He yawned and climbed into the bed. Burying his nose in the pillow that smelled of Jared, he was asleep before he could pull the covers over himself.

* * *

Jensen picked up his still-damp clothes and walked down the path to his trailer. The rains had ended in the night, and the sun shone brightly, promising a glorious day. The Morris dancers, had gone, and with them, everything that needed cleaning. They had left a note _\-- Thank you very much. Gone to laundrette. Back soon._

He made coffee, and sat down on the step to drink it. Jared joined him, and they sat in companionable silence until Chris sprayed gravel with his truck, and called out the window. “Oh good, I’m glad I found you. Listen, there’s a badger denning in the Hobbit House.”

Jensen wondered what that had to do with him. He gave Chris a blank look.

“Come on,” Chris whined, “you know we can’t have a kid get bit.”

“Chris,” said Jared, “that should really be site staff’s problem.”

Looking down, Chris mumbled something. Jensen only heard one word, Alona.

“What about Alona?” he asked.

“She made me promise. She knows I won’t kill it and she’s not sure about them.”

Jensen chanced a side-glance at Jared, who was trying hard not to laugh out loud. “You big softie.”

“It’s Alona,” he said, as if it explained everything. Maybe it did. “I’m not crossing her if I can help it. Will you help me, please?”

Feeling Jared shrug next to him, Jensen moved toward the truck. The conversation he meant to have would keep.

The truck bumped down the ruts leading to the public part of the Faire, metal rattling in the truck bed, and Jared’s thigh warm against his. Chris said, “I have a kennel in the back, we’ll chase him into it, easy as anything, then throw the kennel back in the truck, backstage and wait for the DNR guy.

“You already called the DNR?” asked Jared.

“Yeah, they wouldn’t trap it. Tax dollars at work, huh?”

He put the truck in park as close as he could get to the hobbit house, but still had to carry the kennel some distance.

The round door of the hobbit house stood open, and Chris carried in the kennel, unfolding it in the narrow hallway. Jensen gave Jared a questioning look that Jared answered with a shrug.

“What’s the plan?” asked Jared, as he drew the door up by its latch

“You guys go around the back, and chase the badger into the kennel.”

Jared and Jensen squeezed past the first corner of the kennel, and Jensen burst into laughter. “Kennel’s too big, Chris we can’t get—“

Rocketing from the back of the hobbit house, the badger ran at them growling, fierce in defense of its territory. It hit the cage and kept going, moving it a few inches toward Chris, whose eyes were comically wide.

Jared slapped the door shut behind it, and leaned against the wall. “Looks like we’re done here.”

The badger snapped at the wire of the cage, rocking it, hissing and snarling.

“It’s got it wedged,” Chris said in disgust. “I’m going back to the truck to get my heavy gloves.”

Trapped in the alcove of the hobbit house hallway, Jensen gave the badger in the cage an extremely skeptical look. It growled back, biting at the wire dog kennel. Pressed up against the wall behind Jensen, Jared shot Chris a look that promised consequences.

“I’ll hurry.”

Jared burst out laughing as Chris ran back to the truck.

“What’s so funny?”

“Those gloves are back where we fixed the fence this morning. We’re stuck for a while. What’d you want to talk to me about, before?”

The badger lunged at the side of the cage, and Jensen backed the scant inch separating him from Jared.

“Damn gloves, Jared, are at the transformer. I’ll be back,” shouted Chris, followed by the sound of the truck starting.

Jared pushed the kennel with his heavily booted foot, the badger leaping to attack it, and Jensen turned to face him.

“You’re all big on asking around here,” he began.

“Yeah, saves trouble later.”

“Well, it’s as good a time to ask as any.”

“Ask what?

Jensen breathed in, and stopped. “This isn’t what I was going to say,” he said. The column of Jared’s throat was inches away, and Jensen cleared his throat. “You smell,” he began, and Jared stiffened.

Jensen smiled softly and started again. “You smell of horse, and sweat. Of leather and amber,” he sniffed, “roses, I think. Underneath it all is something that’s just you. Just Jared.”

Jared’s head tilted, and Jensen wanted to bury his nose in the junction of neck and shoulder, to bury his face in Jared’s soft white shirt. “I’m standing here, willing my hands to stay by my sides, because I haven’t asked.” It was now or never. “So, I'm asking. Can I kiss you?”

Jared’s lips curved into a soft smile. “I’d like that.”

Jensen’s hands found their way under the billowy shirt to Jared’s waist. They were already almost chest to chest, and as Jared pulled him into the vee of his groin, Jensen let out a soft moan. Jared met him halfway, with a soft chaste brush of the lips. Jensen’s heart started to race, and Jared lifted his hand to cup Jensen’s jaw, brushing his lower lip with a thumb. “Again?” asked Jared.

Jensen nodded, and Jared brought up his other hand to hold Jensen’s head. “I think this is a great idea.”

The kiss was tentative at first, sweet and hot, and Jensen broke it off to stare at Jared with delight. “We should do this a lot.”

“A lot,” agreed Jared. He licked at the skin beneath Jensen’s ear and Jensen shivered in response. Jensen ran one hand up Jared’s side, and he tossed his head back, cracking it against the wall of the hobbit house. “Shit! We need to get out of here.”

“Still stuck,” Jensen pointed out.

“Better pass the time productively, then.”

Neither of them heard the truck come back.

 

  
* * *

Chris cleared his throat and Jared opened his eyes and Jensen let his head fall to Jared’s chest.

“Seriously, guys? You two have been dancing around one another for how long and it’s a badger that breaks the ice?” Chris handed Jared gloves and a burlap bag, gesturing that he hold it open. His own gloves on, Chris flipped up the top of the kennel, grabbing the badger and dropping him into the sack while it snarled. Holding the squirming bag at arm's length, Chris gave the kennel a kick, and it collapsed onto itself. Cheeks still red, Jensen bent over to finish folding it, and watched Chris walking away dropping the bag into the truck bed before he turned around. “Because if I was telling this story, I’d edit it.”

“It’s a magical fairy trail with enchanting cottages, asswipe,” Jared announced to the sky as Jensen laughed.

"You have a lying mouth." Chris lifted the kennel and tapped Jensen’s ass with the toe of his boot. “You know what I’m going to say.”

“Yes, mom,” Jensen mumbled into Jared’s shirt but he was laughing and tipped his head back to look at Jared. “we just became the first story for tonight’s fire.”

“I’m okay with that,” Jared said, and leaned in for another kiss. "Maybe you should move your truck."

 

  


  
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](http://senorwences.livejournal.com/10669.html)

  
  
Jensen was getting a slow start. Moving day with an eight hour drive ahead. He looked up at the barns in time to see Jim slap the back of the last horse trailer. The driver, Jared, looked right at him, and waved. Jensen waved back, a soft smile playing around his lips. This thing he was building with Jared was low and slow, like good barbecue, and maybe they'd get some of that up in Kansas, where they were going. The trailers with the Chevaliers logo vanished in the distance.

Slurping at his coffee, he started to check the connections on his camper, making certain each one was released and stored properly. He'd stop at the RV station up the road to be sure it was pumped out right, maybe take a leisurely lunch somewhere in Oklahoma. Behind him came the sound of someone clearing their throat. He turned to see Shawna, looking uncertain.

"Hey," he offered neutrally, He was pretty sure she didn't like him, but something had changed in her attitude.

"Jared said I could ride with you, or with Alona. She's not up yet, and the guys, well," she gestured up the hill.

"They've pulled out," he said unnecessarily.

"Yeah. I can wait for 'lona, don't want to put you out."

Jensen smiled, "You can ride with me. Be happy for the company."

"Thanks," she said. 'I can help drive, you know. 19 and all."

Nodding, Jensen remembered she hadn't been old enough to drive the horse trailer. "Help yourself to coffee. There's go mugs in the cupboard."

She nodded, putting her bag in the cab of the pickup, and then climbed into the trailer.

He could hear her, opening cupboards and then securing the interior. He shrugged. It would be good to have company.

* * *

Dallas traffic had been much like Jensen remembered, but now they were almost to Oklahoma. Jensen pulled over at a rest stop, and eyed Shawna. "You really want to drive?"

Her eyes shone. "I do."

"Pulls a little to the left. Tires are good, and we're in no hurry, all right?"

She nodded, and they switched places. Carefully adjusting the mirrors, Shawna pulled out, and they merged back onto the highway. She was a good driver, thought Jensen.

About twenty minutes later, Jensen's phone rang. No one called him anymore but Faire folk, so he answered it without looking. "Yeah?"

"Jensen?"

"It is," he said, "Who's calling?"

This is Portia from Big!Corp. I'm at your apartment, when are you coming home? You've been gone all night, and I've been waiting for you."

"Portia?"

"Yes, from marketing. Listen, I wanted to talk to you yesterday when I saw you at that stupid costume thing, what's it, Scarborough Faire. You were in some parade, dressed funny, and I have some things I need to get off my chest."

"I don't think this is a conversation I want to have, Portia."

"Well, I'm going to talk, so you can just listen, then." Her tone had been cordial, but it changed in a hurry. "I think you should know Jensen, that you cost us all our jobs. I'm going to lose my house in Hawaii because you pulled that fool stunt with Justice, and all of us are hurting. I hope you're real happy. Andy had to sell his yacht, and Bob's motorcycle collection is going up for auction. You cost us Jensen, and I hope you pay!" She was shrieking by this time, and Jensen laid his head back on the headrest.

"I think we're done, Portia." He disconnected, and turned off his phone. Turning to Shawna, he saw how hard she was gripping the wheel. "I'm sorry you had to hear that," he said.

She swallowed hard, and pulled off at the next ramp, driving the truck to the side of the nearest gas station, and parking it. She looked at him through tear-filled eyes.

"I'm sorry, Jensen. A couple of months ago, I might have talked to you like that myself. My mom," she choked, "my mom and dad invested in Big!Corp, too."

Jensen got out of the truck, and tried to breathe. He'd thought it was behind him, but he was starting to realize that he was going to have to hear about what he'd done for the rest of his life, even with the Faire.

Shawna came around the truck with a bottle of water from the cooler, cracked the seal and handed it to him. She sat down on the cement, and looked up at him. "I don't have a college fund anymore, Jensen, I made my folks take it so they could keep the ranch, but I can do honest work. Jared's paying me better than I would get at the diner back home, and there's lots of people looking for jobs back there." She sighed. "I hate the way that woman talked to you. You don't deserve that. You did the right thing, and I was looking for a free ride. I've been reading up on Big!Corp. You're going to testify aren't you?"

Jensen nodded. "I'm sorry for your college fund. I'm sorry for your folks. I'm sorry for everyone that was cheated, and my part in it, but it wasn't me that took money from shareholders to buy yachts and motorcycles and houses in Hawaii." His hands shook as he took a drink of water. "They can't be allowed to get away with it, Shawna, but I am sorry for how you've been hurt."

She looked serious, then stood, and opened up the door to the truck. "Get in. When it's time, I'm going to court with you."

* * *

Shawna drove the rest of the way, handling the road like a pro, and leaving Jensen to his thoughts. He'd been shutting them up too long, and she'd eased some of the grief with her words.

She pulled the trailer up next to the barns, and raised her hands before he could speak. "Jared said to park here." She patted his knee. "Friends?"

"Thank you. For driving, and for what you said."

Shawna nodded and slipped out, as Jensen collected himself. There was a tap on his window, and Jared stood there with a wide smile on his face, and a pair of inflated tire tubes over his shoulder.

"Welcome to Albright."

Jensen smiled, and got out of the truck. Jared was shirtless in hideously flowered green board shorts, gleaming golden in the sun. "Come on," he said, thrusting a pair of equally hideous trunks at Jensen. "You change, I'll hook up."

Jensen looked at him in bewilderment.

"You've never been to Albright - it's a vacation! Go change, dude!"

Jensen pulled open the trailer door, hoping things hadn't fallen or shifted, but Shawna had secured everything perfectly. He looked dumbly at the shorts in his hand and shrugged, changing into them, and thrusting his feet back into his moccasins. He snorted a laugh. Whatever Jared wanted.

He stepped out of the trailer, and Jared snatched up his hand, and Jensen gasped at the sensation. They walked companionably down the path. "There's a spring here, makes a lake."

Jensen could hear laughter, and as they crested the rise, a perfect town sat, on the edges of a lake. In the water, Hemmie and Adrienne were holding a swim class with their brood, and Chris was launching a cooler filled inner tube. "Come on in," he called. "The water's great!"

Jared dropped one of the tubes he was carrying over Jensen's head, and said "Last one in has to open the beers." He dropped a peck on Jensen's cheek and took off running.

Jensen stood and took it all in. There was no yacht, although he supposed the listing pirate ship at one end of the lake might qualify. From behind him, he heard running feet, and by golly, he was not going to have to open all the beer. He kicked off his mocs and ran for the water, launching the tube before jumping onto it with a whoop, falling off, but laughing the entire time. The water wasn't deep, and he stood, streaming water, to meet Jared's darkening eyes.

"You'll do, pig," said Chris, floating leisurely in his own tube.

Jensen thought he just might.

Felicia paddled her tube past him with a grin. "I don't open beers."

Chad floated behind him, and grabbed onto Jared's tire tube. "Hey, hey you guys? Did you ever notice he's Tristan," he pointed at Jared, "and he's Izzy?" He waited for a reaction.

"Get it? Like Tristan and Isolde?" He laughed until Jared dumped him over.

"For fuck's sake," said Chris."Let's hope for a happier ending, asshole."

* * *

The TV crew had been following the knights around all day. Jensen could see that most of the footage they had filmed was of the tilt, and Felicia, but she didn't talk to the media. After closing cannon, Jared sat on the rail of the lists, and answered their questions.

"So, why this?' asked the blonde reporter.

"Well, it's the family business," Jared began. "Back in the late 70's, a couple of people got the idea of Renaissance Faires, and then they figured they needed entertainment. My dad was one of the guys who came up with this." He gestured behind him. There are oh, eight full armored troupes in the world. A couple of light armored groups and a lot of local chapters of the SCA. That's the Society for Creative Anachronism."

The reporter stumbled over the words, as she repeated them. "What's that mean?"

"People with an interest in the Renaissance, or, possibly Medieval life. They try to reproduce it accurately, not unlike Civil War re-enactors. Kind of like Colonial Williamsburg, except we move around."

"And you pretend to be Knights?"

"No, ma'am," drawled Jared. "We are knights. We're actors, and athletes, of course. Each of us have a lot of other interests. 9-5 jobs aren't one of them, though." He grinned, and Jensen, sitting on a hay bale just within earshot, started to understand what he meant.

“I've been a swordsman and jousting performer for most of my life. Every weekend, I put on my armor - weighs about 90 pounds," he said forestalling her question. "It's not a hobby, it's how we all make a living. It's not a very practical way to do it, I suppose, unconventional. It's not for everyone."

Behind him, the squires gathered up the debris and detritus of the day, carrying away broken lances and replenishing the stands with freshly milled whole ones. Ellen took the merchandise into the vardo, and started to shutter it up, Jim, still dressed as the Marshall gave her a resounding kiss that had the surrounding merchants shouting "Get a room!"

Jared gestured to the tiny village behind the reporter. "There are merchants and vendors that travel the circuit. We don't all travel together; there are often three big Faires going on at the same time, as well as smaller ones, and most of them featuring a jousting troupe.

“Some people think what we do is weird and that it's not something grown adults should take seriously. The Faire covers all ages – you can choose to be who you are, or to dress up and be someone you’re not; be someone you might like to be. Kids can come out with their parents and all of them dress up as whatever they want, learn history, find out about glass blowing or heraldry or something else that catches their interest. They can go home and go back to their regular lives.

"But you don't."

"Don't what?" asked Jared

"Go back to a regular life."

Jared threw his head back and laughed. "This is my regular life. I don't know -- or want -- any other. We travel ten months of the year, and then take a break. Our winter quarters are in Texas."

Jensen wondered what Jared's break was like. He thought he'd park his trailer and do taxes in some out of the way town.

Kayte, who ran the costume rental booth slid onto the bale next to him. She was holding a letter and handed it to him. The return address was from the IRS, and she looked at him with tears that threatened to well over. "Will you help us? Please?"

* * *

Jacket laid neatly on the passenger side, tie loosened, Jensen pulled up to his trailer with a grin. Faire was infinitely better than real life, where his temporary desk was near the water cooler, and the software he’d been asked to use was a memory. This was a four week job, closing the books on a company that had been purchased by another, child’s play. Still, it was satisfying. Accounting, numbers, making sense of spending and earnings, that was what he did, and he loved it. And, he loved the Faire. He made sure to bring the forms he'd picked up from the IRS with him as he headed to his trailer to change before his meeting with Kayte.

* * *

"You wanted to see me?" asked Jensen. Susanna looked up from polishing the already gleaming bar.

"Jensen! Thanks for coming."

Jensen had been more than a little worried when he'd gotten her message, his trees were just outside her tavern at this location, and he'd thought their relationship was mutually beneficial.

"I.. um.. heard what you did for Kayte, and I was wondering if you had any interest in helping out some of the other merchants."

"What?" asked Jensen, startled.

She sighed. "I do well enough, and was enough of a book keeper in my past life to have a handle on my finances, but Jensen, the glassblowers and the leather workers and the maille makers, they work all week, and they have to sleep sometime. No matter how many notes they write and how many envelopes of receipts they keep, come November, that envelope from February doesn't make sense if you don't know where you stand, financially."

Jensen nodded.

"If you were willing, they would be happy to pay you not to have that hanging over their heads in the off-season."

"What, be the Accountant of the Faire?"

"Well, yeah, although I was thinking we could call you something fancier. I heard you're a CPA, why not? It means you'll have income, and you'll be here. What could be better?"

Jensen scowled. After he testified, and the trial was over, he was going back to his life in Houston. Back to a condominium where someone else worked on his car, where…

He stared at Susana. There was no Jared, no Chris in Houston.

"I am going to have to think about this," he told her.

* * *

Jared cleared his throat, and his knights and squires turned as one to look at him. "So it's second joust on Last Day at Albright. Aldis groaned. Last Day tradition was for the locals to prank the knights. Following the build of the performances, the pranks would start small, until they reached their grand finale in the joust to the death just before closing cannon

None of the riders wore helmets for this show. The cheerleaders on Sir Tristan's side used his good looks to their advantage, exhorting the crowd to cheer all sorts of bawdy things, but when Jared heard all the women chant "We want to have your babies." He couldn't keep a straight face. At the end of the lists, he slid off Buttercup's back and made a show of checking his saddle girth to hide his amusement, as Vasiliy ran up to him to be sure he was okay. Jared didn't go against script often.

On this day, he wasn't the only one getting it from the crowd On Felicia's side, it was the men cheering the same thing.

The groundscrew had substituted kumquats for lemons, making the targets tiny. The rings were tied tighter than normal, and the tent pegs had been set so loosely that the tent ropes fouled lances, and Jim couldn't stifle his laugh when Aldis flipped one of his tent pegs into the air, showering himself with dust and dirt.

By the time it came to the ground combat portion of the show, Jared's stomach hurt from laughing.

Sebastian had lost a bet with his groundscrew, and was paying off by twerking. In 80 pounds of armor. Jared was going to have to figure out how to keep him around. Sebastian was good with the crowd, but he knew the older man couldn't keep jousting long. He looked over at the merchandising vardo, and saw Ellen watching, eyes fixed on Jim. Jared wondered when her hair had silvered, and conceived the beginnings of a plan.

Felicia had thrown her glove and she and Aldis were dancing in a duel. The outcome was always certain; one way or another Felicia won. Aldis's job was to keep it interesting.

He planted a booted foot behind her and she fell to the ground, Sword at her throat, he shouted "Yield!"

She batted his sword away with a mailled hand and drew off her helmet, propping herself up on one elbow. "I yield, Black Knight, but if you think you can look down longer than I can look up, you're fooling yourself!"

* * *

 

  
Afterwards, the knights stood at the rails with their steeds, holding their helmets for tips and posing for photos. They watched the fingers of the patrons offering carrots that they sold at the merchandise vardo, hoping for T-shirt or banner sales. Shawna was carrying a basket of them now, for patrons who hadn't planned ahead. That often kept the trucks filled with gasoline.

Jared could hear Felicia next to him, smiling prettily for a photo with a little princess, who asked, “Do you ride a girl horse?”

"Not this time," she answered. "I've had mares before, but Casanova and I just clicked."

"But he doesn't have boy parts!" she exclaimed.

"That's true! He's a special kind of horse called a gelding. It makes it easier for all the horses to get along."

The girl jumped off the rail to thump a boy who could only have been her brother. "Maybe you should be a gelding!"

Felicia hid her laugh behind a gloved hand, as the family went on to see more of the Faire.

A teen girl in jeans asked, “Is your armor heavy?”

Jared knew that's not what the real question was, so he listened to Felicia's answer. “Actually, I’ve made almost no modifications. Sir Tristan's got more of a problem because he’s so freakishly tall!” and she waved at him, more a mocking salute. “But human bodies are human bodies. The chasing and decoration are mine, see where the Black Knight has chess pieces on his barding?”

He nodded at her. Chain maille bikinis and popped out breasts were what people expected from 'lady knights' It wasn't what worked.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” asked a boy, eyes sliding to Jared. She says "Yes," and Jared knows Aldis can hear her. He watches him fumbles Bishop’s reins. Two seasons they'd been together and it was still new. He wanted that with Jensen.

 

 

  
  
Summer had arrived in the night. Jensen and Chris sat back in their sling chairs, a cooler of beer between them. Monday was an off day for everyone, even the horses didn’t train. Jensen hoped Jared would come down to join them, as the Chevalier’s pickup pulled in from a town run.

Alona leaned against her trailer, cutoffs and halter top in sharp contrast to her Fairy Queen costume, talking to Felicia and waving a bottle of beer for emphasis, both of them laughing, with bright smiles for Aldis as he sauntered toward them.

Up by the barns, Jared unloaded a box from the truck, looked at the label, then toward the trailers, and shouted “Alona!”

She straightened and looked toward him.

“Box,” he shouted, “from Japan.”

Alona squealed and ran toward him, her bare feet kicking up a cloud of dust as she went.

Chris twisted the top off a fresh bottle, dropping the empty on a box next to the cooler. “Two seasons they’ve been doing this. Somehow the three of them make it work.” He stared at the dirt. “Shit, Jensen, I don’t know. I couldn’t even hold it together with one.”

Jensen nodded absently. He knew Chris had some heartbreak in his past, but he'd only shared the summary, not any of the details. Jensen's attention was still on the man with the truck.

Jared pulled a knife from inside his boot, and Jensen wondered what they thought at the post office when Jared walked in. Tall leather boots, with carved horn buttons to fasten them embraced his muscular calves, Form fitting breeches that fit like skin were covered where he most wanted to see by Jared's regular blousy shirt. Hanging to mid thigh, the shirt was tantalizing, and Jared wore it well. Ellen supplemented the troupe's income selling them out of the vardo. Even Jensen had one, but he knew he didn't fill it like Jared.

Taking a long sip of his beer, Jensen pondered. Jared was the Faire. He lived it, and Jensen was only visiting. What was he doing, romanticizing this, making a whirlwind summer romance into something he knew he wasn't sticking around for. Or was he?

Alona was running back now, and thrust the box into Felicia's arms. Aldis looked into the box over her shoulders, and both of them looked at Alona, who was practically humming with excitement. "From Miko. Shibari."

Felicia's eyebrows arched, and Aldis snuck a long arm over to open the trailer door ahead of the women.

Chris looked at Jensen with a sigh, and stood, starting to pick up the cooler and his chair. "Come on, we really don't want to listen to this."

The sound of an approaching vehicle made his head whip around. “What in the fuck?”

Jensen looked past him out the door into the quickly falling night. Lights on for safety, a teal pickup was pulling up, parking far away from any of the other trucks.

Chris rubbed his face, and looked again, shaking his head in disbelief. "Jensen, I am about to get very very drunk."

"What is it?"

"Well, unless he sold that ancient piece of machinery to someone else, and I'm sure that's possible, since there's no trailer in its bed, that is Steve's truck."

"Steve?"

"Steve."

Jensen gaped at Chris. "Steve that took off on you when you went home for Thanksgiving?"

"Steve that took off on me when I was bringing him home for Thanksgiving to meet the family," corrected Chris. "The falconer. Heartbreaker. Motherfucker."

"I have bourbon," said Jensen.

Chris flopped back into his chair. "Bring it."

* * *

The sun was almost down, and the level of bourbon in the bottle was dropping at an alarming rate, although Chris didn't seem any drunker.

Jensen smiled to see Jared coming down the path from the barns. Sebastian ran up to Alona's trailer and wrenched open the door, stepping in and backing out with his hand over his eyes. "Oh my God, I am so very very sorry." He softly closed the door and backed away.

Standing there, as if trying to sort out in which direction to run, Sebastian moaned when the door opened again with such force it slammed against the side of the trailer. Felicia, naked except for the short kimono that gaped open, stood with her sword like an avenging angel.

Jared broke into a run.

She advanced on Sebastian, who backed away with his hands up in surrender.

Aldis appeared in the doorway, shirtless, zipping his jeans, and Jensen could hear Alona still inside. "Tilapia, dammit, Aldis."

Beating Sebastian with the flat of her sword, Felicia spat and snarled. "You never walk into a trailer without knocking. You never ever invade our privacy. You never ever come near me or talk to me again, you disgusting piece of vermin!" Sebastian cowered on the ground, and Aldis wrapped Felicia in his arms, murmuring softly.

From the trailer, Alona was still screeching, "Tilapia, you god damned pieces of shit! Fucking Tilapia!"

Sebastian groaned, and Aldis took the sword from Felicia's willing hand, ushering her back into the trailer as if they were returning from a stroll. The door slammed behind them, followed by the unmistakable *snick* of the lock.

Looking at Jared who had skidded to a stop on the opposite side of the fire, Jensen shut his mouth. He couldn't decide if he was horrified, or hysterical, if he should help Sebastian or not. He stretched out his hand, and Chris slapped the bottle of bourbon into it. Jensen took a short pull.

Jared stepped around the fire and held out his hand. Jensen handed him the bottle, and Jared took a longer pull. Sebastian crawled up to his knees, but no one moved to help him. After a moment, he stood, teetering. From where he stood, he shouted, "I beg pardon. I have offended and --"

"And you can fuck right off!" Felicia shouted from the trailer.

Sebastian hung his head and staggered, bracing himself on a tent pole, as everyone held their collective breaths. It held, and Sebastian stumbled away.

Jared shook his head. "What in the fuck."

"Hold that thought," said Jensen, jerking his head to the opposite side where a blond man, long hair pulled into a ponytail stepped into the light of the fire. Jared held the bottle out to Chris who shook his head.

Steve walked into the firelight, striding confidently. Susanna ground her teeth and looked at Chris. Jared was already putting his not-inconsiderable bulk between Chris and the man who’d left him. Chris was standing now, weight balanced, face schooled into nonexpression. Jensen shuddered. That was Chris at his most dangerous. Steve stopped well out of even Jared’s range and looked right at Chris.

“I’d like to travel north and west this year. I need your permission.”

“Why?” asked Chris. Jensen could hear the pain under the belligerence.

“I made a mistake, I got scared, I ran. I hurt the person I love most in the world. I want to make it right.”

Chris snorted. “Person you love most in the world is you. Go where you like. Don’t cross my path.” He turned and walked into the night.

From behind him, Jensen could hear murmuring.

“That’s the guy.”

“What guy?”

“You know how Chris doesn't date?”

“Yeah the whole Lost Love of his…wait, that guy? I thought he like died, or something.”

“Nope, broke his heart and went mundane or something.”

“Didn’t go mundane, he just went the Florida Georgia Mississippi route.”

“Is redneck better or worse than mundane?”

“Not your business," said Julie. "Go put your lipstick on.”

Jensen looked at Steve, whose shoulders had slumped. Jared's fists were clenching and unclenching, and there was a hardness to his look that Jensen hadn't seen before. "Why'd you come back?"

"I’m sorry, okay? I fucked up. I need to make it right with Chris, not with you.”

“Yeah well, so far as I know you’re still a fuckup.” Jared turned his back.

"I am. I'll be one until I make it right. I crawled into a bottle for a year and it killed the pain, but I woke up every day crying for me, for my own stupidity, and how I … how I left Chris."

Jared waited.

"Sober. A year in AA." He stuck his hand in his pocket, drawing out a medallion.

Jared nodded. "Where are the birds?"

"Sold 'em. They went with the license and the act. I don't care about that anymore."

"How do you expect to make a living?"

Jensen looked at Jared. It sounded like he was asking Steve's intention, his ability to provide for Chris and his happiness.

"Playing music. I have three shows a day at Treetops, if it's okay for me to stay."

"I think you have your answer. Don't cross his path."

Steve gave an abrupt nod, and walked away. A few minutes later, Jensen could hear a truck start up, and watched the taillights go slowly up the path to leave the grounds.

"Gimme that bottle, will you?" Jared asked. Jensen patted Chris's chair and held out the bottle. Jared sat, and they sat by the fire.

"Not so dumb," muttered Jared.

"Huh?" asked Jensen, startled.

"He's staying at the public campground, by where the Twins stay. Not here. Waiting to see what happens."

Jensen remembered Chris's heartbreak. "What do you mean, 'what happens'?"

"They loved each other. A lot." He looked consideringly at Jensen. "Must be something in the water."

Jensen looked at him, uncomprehendingly.

"You wanna go catch a matinee tomorrow? I need to take the black truck in, it's missing and I need to have it serviced."

"Missing?"

"Yeah, one of the cylinders isn't firing right. I need service."

Jensen thought about it. "I could do a matinee tomorrow."

Jared nodded and settled back into the chair. Out of the corner of his eye, Jensen saw him shake his head. "Jensen?"

"Yes?"

"I don't want to see a movie."

Jensen inhaled sharply. "I didn't ask what was playing."

They sat in companionable silence.

* * *

Jensen paced the length of his trailer and back again, wearing nothing but long briefs. This could be the date of his life. What was he supposed to wear? He looked at every bit of clothing he had in his trailer, and finally drew on jeans and a polo shirt. A tap on his door startled him, and he looked stunned at his watch.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"I couldn't wait," answered Jared from the other side of the still closed door.

Jensen took a deep breath. "Come in."

Standing in the doorway, Jared looked uncertain in his polo shirt and cargo pants.

Jensen pulled him into the trailer and wrapped Jared into his arms. "I've been trying to get dressed for an hour."

Jared kissed him, and Jensen felt too big for his body. He broke off the kiss and looked Jared in the eye. "If we don't go now, we'll never leave this trailer."

Jared smiled shyly. "Let's go, then?"

Jensen nodded.

* * *

It was only twenty minutes to the dealership. Jensen had never experienced a longer twenty minutes. Jared drove carefully, just above the speed limit, and even Jensen could hear the cylinder's miss.

"Wow, that's really ragged," he offered.

"Like my breathing," agreed Jared.

They were silent the rest of the way.

Pulling into the service area. Jared strode confidently into the dealership, and Jensen slid out of the truck.

He looked across the street and saw the motel sign blinking, He swallowed hard. This wasn't going to be some random hook up, this was actually something he cared about.

Jared came out of the office, and caught Jared's hand in his own as they matched stride for stride across the quiet side street.

Instead of going to the office, Jared produced a key from one of his many pockets. At Jensen's look, he laughed, embarrassed. "When I said I couldn't wait, I couldn't wait." He unlocked the last unit, and let Jensen in first. "I drove in earlier and checked us in."

It was a bog standard motel room, two double beds, a light between them, a table by the windows and two chairs, and Jensen wanted Jared on every surface in the room. He turned to say something, he wasn't sure what, but Jared had already locked the door and moved into his space.

"Want you. Jensen, this might not work for us, but there is no way I wouldn't try for it. For you." Jared captured Jensen's mouth into the most toe-curling kiss Jensen had ever had. He didn't know what to do with his hands, wanting them all over every inch of Jared, pulling him closer with his left hand on his ass, and thumbing open the fly of his cargo pants, and thrusting his hand inside.

Under his cargo pants was only skin, and Jensen's head spun. In his hand, Jared grew, tapping on the inside of his wrist, and Jensen tipped his head back to gasp. Jared grasped his hands and pulled them up between them to rest on his chest. Jensen could feel Jared's heart beat like a sledgehammer. Holding Jensen's wrists with one impossibly large hands, Jared used his free hand to open Jensen's fly. Delicate, long and nimble fingers stroked the fly of Jensen's briefs and Jensen broke Jared's grip to frame his face with both hands, pulling Jared in for another scorching kiss.

Jared teased one finger into the opening of Jensen's fly, and Jensen began to shake. "No, no, too many clothes," murmured Jared. "So sensitive, so -- Jensen you weren't kidding when you said big!"

Jensen's head fell onto Jared's chest as he breathed slowly to gain back control of his own body. His hands never fumbled once as he loosened Jared's cargo pants to drop onto the seedy motel carpet. He went up top next, skimming the polo shirt up over Jared's head. Now Jensen had too many clothes on, he wanted, needed skin to skin contact.

Jared toed off his moccasins and stepped out of his pants, and Jensen looked up to see the shirt was caught on Jared's hair. Before he could reach for it, Jared had pulled Jensen's shirt over his head, and gone to his knees in front of him, pulling him close with the shirt wrapped in his hands. Nuzzling at Jensen's crotch, Jared's hot breath on the knob of his cock made Jensen's head swim. Jared dropped the shirt and shoved Jensen away, Jensen stumbling backwards until he fell backwards onto the bed. Like a panther Jared crawled toward him on all fours, and resumed his onslaught on Jensen's crotch.

Lost in sensation, Jensen's head whipped back and forth as he fought for air. Jared was pushing him to the brink and he was still half dressed. Mustering every ounce of determination he had, Jensen rolled away from Jared's mouth, heaving for more oxygen.

"There are easier ways to kill me, Jared," he choked out.

Jared grinned at him. "Not before watching you fall apart. Not before you fuck me stupid."

Their eyes locked. "So it's like that, is it?" asked Jensen.

Jared stood, his cock pointing skyward, and wrapped one hand around himself. He stroked slowly, as Jensen kicked off his shoes and pushed his pants off. Beads of liquid bubbled at the tip of Jensen's cock, soaking his briefs, and he reached for Jared.

Jared backed slightly away. "I'm not gonna last, Jensen."

"Because we have a curfew?"

Jared groaned, his back starting to arch, and Jensen barked at him. "Stop."

Shocked, Jared did just that. "Jensen?"

Fumbling the daypack he'd fallen on out from underneath him, Jensen unzipped it and laid it open for Jared to look at. "I planned for the long run. Lotion, lube, condoms. A couple of other things…"

Jared smiled.

"What do you want, Jared?" Jensen asked coyly.

"Want to paint you, and then, I want you to fuck me. And then, we'll sort it." He swept Jensen's pack to the side. "Yeah?"

Jensen propped himself up on his elbows. "Oh, yeah."

"Can I go back to what I was doing now?"

* * *

"I'm really glad you're parked closer to the barns now," said Jared, breaking the silence on the drive back.

Jensen was still smiling happily.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. The walk of shame will be much, much shorter."

He parked the truck, and the entire staff of the Chevaliers stood outside of the barn waiting for them. "Oh, oh."

Jensen looked up.

They got out of the truck to a round of applause.

"Never did the walk of shame in this direction," murmured Jensen.

Jared laughed, and kissed him full on the mouth.

 

  


  
Jensen had started parking his trailer up by the barns. No one remarked on it, and Jensen wouldn't have cared if they had. The entire right side of the trailer had been converted to office space. Jensen stretched his hands over his head until his back cracked just as Jared came into the trailer with two covered plates. He put them down on the table, and grinned. "Alona loves a good joke. She made us fish."

* * *

Jensen yawned and ran a hand through his hair. He could hear Jared talking to the horses as he led them out to pasture. Propping himself up on one elbow, Jensen could just see out of the tiny window of his trailer. Shirtless Jared plunged his head into the water trough, and shook his head, water spraying Buttercup, who looked affronted. Jensen smiled. Jared wore nothing but tights, leaving nothing to the imagination, and Jensen felt his groin swell in response. Leaning back and stretching, he spared a moment of gratitude that he’d had the trailer’s bed custom made; his lover was even taller than he was.

He stretched, and swung his legs over the side of the bed, careful to duck his head. Touching something damp with his bare foot, he looked down to see the wash cloth Jared had wiped them down with last night. Jensen smiled at the memory, then sniffed with appreciation at the scent of freshly brewed coffee. Sex with Jared was pretty amazing, a lover who made coffee even though he didn’t drink it, that was outstanding.

Jensen hopped down from the bed ledge and took another look out the window. Jared was playing with the horses, pointedly ignoring them as they jostled for his attention, knowing he had treats for them in the sack on the rail while he made sure their water was clear and fresh. He shook his still sodden curls at them, and laughed joyfully, throwing his head back. Jensen loved that. The thought stopped him dead in his tracks, and he shook his head in disbelief. Jensen stood, hitting his head on the low ceiling of the trailer and cursing. He saw stars. Stars and hearts, like a cartoon skunk, and he admitted it to himself. This wasn’t a pleasant, comfortable hook up. Jared meant something to him, something he could chase until he’d caught it, and held it. Something that had permanence. He hoped Jared could feel the same about him. His grandfather had always told him he’d know it once he’d found it. This could be real, true, love.

Love was a big thing, something Jensen had given up on, but the tenderness between them, that was rare, valuable. He turned it over in his head, looking at it with as much distance as he could manage with his head still swimming. What did he have to offer Jared that was a special as his beau chevalier?

They were so different, yet so alike. Hand and glove working together. Partners. When had he started thinking of them as a unit, when that happened?

He skimmed on a pair of jeans and put cream and sugar in his coffee as he tried to collect his thoughts. Surely, the absolute clarity was his alone, and while he had Jared, courting was the thing he needed to do always. To be sure Jared knew that he was worthy, a thing worth having, that was all he had to do for the rest of his life, he could not imagine a future without him.

* * *

Jensen sat on the makeshift bench in the tallest of the trees on the hill. Barely rustling the branches, Alona perched next to him as the trumpets sounded for the first joust of the day. The Chevaliers rode in, horse’s hooves thundering, their armor gleaming in the sun. Alona smiled happily.

“You’ve seen this a hundred times,” said Jensen. “It still makes you happy?”

She flapped her wings, and grinned,

"Fucking A right?" he asked.

Silvery laughter and a wink answered him.

* * *

Jared and Sebastian sat their horses, fully armored, waiting for their cues.

Both of them would ride onto the field for the late performance. All day long, they'd been following their script, setting up this joust for honor, to the death. It happened every weekend, at least once for each of them.

Sebastian raised his visor. "Jared, I've been thinking."

"Now, Seb? You want to talk now?"

"Hasn't been any time. You're so busy with the horses, with your dissertation, with Jensen."

Jared nodded. That's true. Let's talk after."

Sebastian nodded and slapped Crispin on the flank. "We few, we happy few," he quoted, and closed his helm.

"Band of brothers," answered Jared. He thought about the talk he'd already had that week with Jim, how he and Ellen wanted to dial back and stay at the ranch more. He shook his head, and concentrated. when the gates opened, only one of them would ride back through, victorious. Today was Jared's turn to die, and he thought Sebastian would manage something despicable, probably a sword in the back. He grinned this was what they did.

He had a lance in his hand, and Buttercup between his legs. The field might have dried out from the midday rain, after all, and there was enough flexibility in the script that they might just battle all the way into the Royal box on foot.

He heard Jim - the Marshall - call for Sir Balthazar, and Sebastian kicked Crispin into a trot. Sebastian cantered onto the field and the gates closed behind him. Jared had seen the crowd, though, all three thousand howling for blood. Some of them had followed the day long drama to its inevitable culmination, here.

The trumpets blasted and the call for Sir Tristan came. Couching his lance, Jared gave Buttercup a little kick. They streaked through the gate, past his cheering supporters. Another horse might have spooked at the sudden onslaught of noise, but Buttercup was well-trained, bombproof.

Jared had to remind himself that today, Tristan was the corpse. He circled the ring, booed on one side, cheered on the other. Jared pulled up to stand next to Sebastian and receive the Marshall's instructions. He'd felt the footing on the field and was satisfied with it. Jim wasn't sure about the footing, Jared trusted his judgment completely, so when the Marshall called for the quintain, Jared only grimaced, knowing the bruise on his arm was only going to get deeper, but they'd be certain of the footing.. Sebastian hit the battle quintain square, knocking his imaginary opponent on its keister, and Jared grinned. Raising his arms in victory, Sebastian whipped his supporter's cheers to a roar.

It was Jared's turn, now, and he spotted the slick spot moments before Buttercup corrected to miss it. Jared's aim was a little high of true, so he powered through the strike, killing his opponent as well.

As the crowd cheered, Jim spoke to the grounds crew who scattered straw and dirt over the problem spot.

It was as good as it was going to get, and Jared shut it out of his mind, washed his hands of care and got down to it. Favors were collected, and the connection to the audience was made. They had chosen their champions and it was time to joust.

Jared breathed deeply. No one on the field could help him now. He and Sebastian had to have faith in one another, skills and talent. Time to let training overcome any of a thousand possible fuck ups.

The queen gave a speech about honor, punctuated with a flurry of trumpets, Jared maneuvered Buttercup into the list and saluted Sebastian. They were ready. The first hit was Jared's, and he passed Sebastian just feet away from him, striking a resounding hit onto his shield. He bent backwards to duck Sebastian's lance, which whistled harmlessly over his shoulder and slowed Buttercup's pace to the end of the lists.

Crispin was blowing and pawing at the other end of the field, Sebastian had his hands full with him. The next pass was his, but he missed completely. Jared was starting to get concerned. Running past each other, Vasiliy and Shawna exchanged a flood of information, shoving and pushing at each other until she was satisfied Vasiliy had the whole story.

Jim started to speak again while Jared leaned down to hear Vasiliy tell him Crispin had been beestung, but Sebastian thought he was alright. On the fifth pass, Sebastian's lance struck perfectly, and Jared let himself be unhorsed, hitting the ground, and pretending to a grogginess he didn't feel. It hurt anyway, and he could hear screams from the crowd. Vasiliy helped him up, asking all the concussion protocol questions Jared had drilled into him.

Sebastian charged him, and Jared grabbed his lance, pulling him from his horse.

Sebastian's turn to play groggy, and Jared drew his sword, circling his opponent. Uncharacteristically, Sebastian wiggled his fingers and shook his head from side to side. The crowd cheered, and Jared pulled off his helmet, gasping fresh air and brandishing his sword.  
Shawna helped Sebastian out of his helmet.

With a roar, Sebastian advanced on Jared, and they slashed and parried, each gaining and losing the upper hand while the crowd cheered them on. Still one of them had to die, and it was Jared's day. As Sebastian delivered the choreographed death blow, Jared bit hard on the blood capsule Vasiliy had slipped him, and the gore flew.

He collapsed onto the ground in a heap and twitched for a moment until he laid still. He could hear a child start wailing, and Vasiliy leaned in to check his pulse. Mournfully, his squire shook his head at the Marshall, who declared Sir Balthazar the winner of the joust.

Sebastian remounted Crispin wearily, with a leg up from Shawna and Jared's body was lifted onto a cart 'for proper disposal'

Sebastian took his victory lap, and the knights all returned to the field to take a round of applause.

Jared entered the field again on foot to a huge roar, and he took the headset from Jim.

"Thank you, Minnesota!" he began. "I want to call two of our company here to the center of the field. Shawna, Vasiliy, join me."

Shawna and Vasiliy stood before him, and Jared smiled at them. "Usually," he said, "this is a thing that happens backstage, but I want to make this more of an occasion, maybe start a tradition. Kneel."

He looked toward the royal box, where the performer playing the Queen sat. He caught her eye and she laughed aloud. Jim rode over to where she sat and handed her up to his horse, leading her to the middle of the field before lifting her down and going to his knee.

Jared stepped closer to her so the microphone would pick up her words. "Rise Marshall, and give me your sword," said the Queen, Jared offered his arm, as she walked toward the kneeling squires.

"Do you swear to uphold the security of the realm, and give your fealty to the Crown?" she asked.

"Aye!" the two said.

With the flat of her sword, she slapped their shoulders. "Arise knights of the company, Knights of the Realm!"

From his perch in the trees, Jensen led the cheering with a loud "Huzzah!"

* * *

Lowering himself down from his perch, Jensen could hear the oohs, as his biceps flexed.

There was always an "Oooh".

He bowed to the crowd, and grabbed his torches, Spitting the alcohol from his mouth and setting it afire to light his torches.

He waited for the gasp from the crowd, before he set to juggling his flaming torches, happy to be home.

* * *

 

"Jensen?"

"Mmm," he answered sleepily, head on Jared's chest.

"Back to Texas next week."

Jared was abnormally still beneath him, and Jensen woke fully, propping himself up an elbow.

"What about it?"

"You have to testify."

Jensen nodded. He'd been hoping that his testimony would be presented by proxy, but the defense insisted he be there in person. "I'm not afraid."

"I am."

"What?" asked Jensen, startled.

Jared looked miserable. "I'm afraid you won't come back."

"Jared, I --" began Jensen.

"I love you," said Jared. "I want you back, and I want you to move to the ranch, and I want us to be a couple."

Jensen started to sit up, and remembered where he was. The roof of the trailer was a scant inches above his head, so he laid his head back on Jared's chest instead.

"Can't think of why I'd leave my accounting practice for city life, Jared."

Jared went still, in spite of the attention Jensen was giving his nipple.

"What about the rest?"

Jensen moved his head and licked at the corner of Jared's mouth. "I love you too, you idiot. I was worried you'd get your PhD and leave me on the circuit alone. Well, not alone, but stuck with a class A license, and Chris and --," he waved his hand, "them."

"Class A license?" Jared asked.

Jensen reached above his head to the shelf and pulled down an envelope. "I was going to show you this over dinner, but you were so hot we never got there, and well, it's a sort of my commitment to you. The actual license will come in the mail. I gave them the ranch address, I hope you don't mind."

Jared's smile lit up the trailer like a flock of lightning bugs. “Jensen, you will always have a home with me.”

“I tow my house. It’s only home when you’re in it.”

“Like I said.”

 

And they all lived happily forever after.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I owe a huge debt of gratitude to Kent Shelton and Kelly Bailey, who were gracious enough to spare me some time when I had questions. Sirs Brian and William, Virginia Hankins and the amazing Samantha Swords were inspirational. The Minnesota Renaissance Faire is my home Faire now, but I cut my teeth at Bristol. No pickle boys were harmed in restructuring the calendar or the actual locations of some of the Faires I yank in this 'tail'. 
> 
> Glorious art is by [dulcetine](http://dulcetine.livejournal.com/185936.html)
> 
> I keep coming up with scenes, so there might be timestamps.


End file.
